


That Shirt

by LokisGirl



Category: Guns N' Roses, Skid Row (US Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blow Jobs, M/M, imposter syndrome, inappropriate sexual use of jewelry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29064189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokisGirl/pseuds/LokisGirl
Summary: Duff used to think he was a punk. Now he suspects he's a poseur. Rachel's not confused about being a fanboy with a crush on his punk idol.Duff drinks to avoid Rachel because he can't deal with the pressure of living up to Rachel's expectations. It all comes to a head in a hotel room confrontation that doesn't end the way either of them expects. (aka how did this sex get into my angst?)
Relationships: Duff McKagan/Rachel Bolan
Kudos: 6





	That Shirt

Duff was drunk. Again. It was nothing new, except for one thing: he’d never needed a drink to get out of bed before. Well, he didn’t exactly need that shot of vodka to get out of bed, per se. He needed it to be able to leave his hotel room. Rachel might be out there. Rachel would be out there, with his quick wit and his encyclopedic knowledge of punk rock. His ability to understand Duff in a way no one else did. That’s why Duff needed that morning shot. He needed it to hide behind. One false move, and Rachel, along with everyone in both their bands, would know that Duff wasn’t what he seemed to be.

Stuffing a battered cigarette pack into his boot, he went to find his band mates. Slash was in the dining room with Axl and Matt. Duff slid into the booth beside him. He waved across the table at the boys. Matt nodded. Axl made a nearly sub vocal grunting sound. “Is there coffee?” Duff asked.

Slash passes his cup. “See for yourself.”

Duff looks into the cup critically and takes a small sip. “Ugh. That’s disgusting!”

Slash laughs at him. “I warned you, Starbucks boy.”

“What can I say? I’m hometown proud,” Duff shrugs. “Where’s Izzy?” he asked. If there was no coffee, there could still be rehearsal or at least a jam before the show. 

“He went somewhere with Sebastian. They are like the weirdest pair ever. One guy barely speaks, and the other one can’t shut up,” Matt observed. 

“Iz just can’t be bothered to try and get a word in edgewise,” Axl finally spoke. “He’s happiest to let that loud motherfucker bury himself.”

“Sebastian has a got a pretty good case of foot in mouth disease. Were you at the after party when he tried to pick up my sister?” Duff smirked. “I seriously thought she was going to clobber him.”

“Speaking of pick ups, or kiss ups as the case may be,” Matt ventured, “take a look at what Bolan’s wearing. As if he’s not trying to get your attention.”

The whole table cast not so surreptitious glances at the Skid Row bassist as he made his way towards them. In his pink leather jacket with the chain strung between his nose and ear he stood out among the breakfast crowd mostly made up of business people. A few of them stared openly. For the band, none of this was out of the ordinary. Duff gawked anyways. Under the baby pink jacket lay something he hadn’t seen in years- a Ten Minute Warning t-shirt. Hell, Duff had been in the band and he didn’t have one.  
Duff scrambled out of his seat. “Gonna go see if I can find a drinkable cup of coffee. Later!” He made a beeline for the door closest to the table, conveniently enough also the one the furthest from Rachel. 

Fuck coffee. He headed straight back to his room and his soothing bottle of vodka. Caffeine was not going to make this wave of panic recede, but he could drink it away. He’d never wanted a drink so badly in his whole life. Locking the door behind him, he immediately drained the quarter bottle of vodka left on the table from last night. That couldn’t be all there was. He rummaged in his bag, coming up with a mickey and three warm beers. 

He was on the phone with room service, trying to make them understand that no, he didn’t want a vodka tonic sent up, he wanted a whole bottle of vodka, when someone knocked on his door. He dropped the phone into the cradle and went to answer it, swearing under his breath about fuckin’ useless hotels. 

Swinging the door open expecting to see Slash, he stopped dead in his tracks when he realized he was facing Rachel. Making an awkward show of leaning ever so casually on the door, he said “hey.”

“Hi.”

Duff didn’t reply. Even slouching like he was, he still towered over Rachel. Rachel’s dark eyes caught Duff and held him. The corner of Rachel’s mouth twitched. Finally he broke the stare down.

“Do you have a problem with me? Did I do something to fuckin’ piss you off?”

The question took Duff completely off guard. “What? No. I don’t have a problem with you. Why would you think that?”

“You get up and leave any time I come around. After a while, a guy starts to take that sort of shit personally, you know? Do I smell funny or something?” 

A woman wearing a gaudy purple blazer and a hotel name tag came by carrying a tray with four glasses and a half gallon of vodka. Duff signed for it, gave the lady a ten dollar tip and retreated inside the room. Rachel followed as he tossed the cap from the bottle in the general direction of a waste basket and took a long swig. “Oh. I’m sorry. Where’s my manners? Care for a tipple?” he waved the bottle at Rachel. 

“I usually don’t drink before noon, but I’ll make an exception this once.” Rachel took the bottle by the handle and poured himself a small glass. He held it without ingesting. “So.”

“So you think I have some kind of fuckin’ problem with you. I don’t, not really.” Duff faced the issue. Hiding was obviously not working anymore. 

“Not really? What’s that supposed to mean?” Rachel pushed his hair back. He had a little half sneer on that Duff didn’t take as aggressive or offensive. It was just Rachel. In fact, Duff thought it was kind of cool. It reminded him of his idol Sid Vicious.

“It means,” Duff attacked the vodka again, “that I don’t have anything to say because there’s nothing to talk about. You and I are cool. Well, alright, you’re cool. I’m just some guy in a band. A former punk, if you will.”

“What happened? You grew out of it?”

“I don’t know. I only ever wanted to play music, and then the drugs started. I moved to LA because my friends in Seattle were dying left, right and centre. I couldn’t watch them anymore. So I joined this band, and now we’re these big fucking rock stars. I hate rock stars.”

Rachel was starting to put two and two together. “So you drink yourself stupid every day to get away.”

“I don’t really put that much thought into it, but sure, we can call it that. I get by. Then you show up.” Duff continued draining the bottle. It was a little frightening how fast the level was falling. Rachel put his glass down and took the bottle by the neck. Duff passed it over without commenting. Rachel simply held on, not giving it back or drinking from it.

“Me? What do I have to do with it?”

“Maybe not so much you as your fucking wardrobe. Two days ago you had a Fastbacks shirt on. You show up today with Ten Minute Warning. It makes me a little uncomfortable, like you’re accusing me of selling out.”

Rachel flopped backwards onto Duff’s bed. He gave up and finally chugged some of the vodka. It was like fire going down. “Dude, I’m sorry. I had no idea it was going to be a thing at all. I fucking loved your old bands, the whole Seattle punk scene. I was totally jealous when I was in high school that you guys had all this cool shit going on out there and back in Jersey all we had was the Boss. The only reason I wanted to do this tour at all was to maybe get the chance to jam with you on some proper punk shit.

“I used to collect zines and I remember this one I had that had pictures of the Vains in it. I saw you in those garters and stockings and thought to myself, man, I wanna be like that kid. He just doesn’t give a fuck!” Rachel finished speaking and drank again. It didn’t burn quite so badly this time.

Laughing a bit, Duff resorted to a taunt, trying to cover his mounting panic. “Yeah, right. Everyone wants to grow up to be in a crossdressing band. At least I made it look good!” 

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Yeah, you did.” Rachel balanced on an elbow to take another swig. “You still do.”

Duff grabbed the bottle from him. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

Rachel stood. “What? Why? It was a joke.”

Duff put the bottle on the dresser near where he was standing. “That’s why.”

In two steps Rachel was in front of him. Grabbing Duff by the back of the head, he pulled him down until they were forehead to forehead. “This isn’t a joke.” He pressed his lips insistently to the blond’s. A split second later, Duff’s tongue was working its way into Rachel’s mouth, paving the way with a muffled moan. 

Forcing Rachel to step backward until he collapsed on to the bed, Duff climbed up to straddle his hips, trying not to break the kiss. Rachel’s hands slid up under his thin t-shirt, tracing the outline of Duff’s ribs with fevered fingertips. Duff stretched himself out to his full height, pinning Rachel beneath him. Rachel let himself sink into the mattress, savouring the slight weight of Duff and the feel of his body along every part. Duff’s knee slipped between his thighs; he responded by moving his hips to grind himself on a denim-clad thigh. Reaching for Duff’s belt buckle, he tried to pop it and failed. There wasn’t enough room between them to get it open. He settled for shoving his hand awkwardly down Duff’s pants. 

Duff shifted his weight just enough for Rachel to flip him over onto his back. He protested as Rachel broke the kiss, moving his lips down Duff’s long neck as he slid himself down the bed and off the end. He pulled Duff to the edge and set about getting rid of that stupid belt. Making short work of the zipper, he managed to free Duff’s long cock from his pants. 6’3” is good for something, he thought. 

Settling on his knees between the blond’s legs, he set to work. Rachel licked his lips, placing a single kiss on Duff’s head before beginning to lick and suck at it, twisting his tongue around the shaft as best he could. The chain Rachel wore from his nose got caught up and pulled into his mouth along with Duff’s dick. Rachel used it. The chain had no sharp edges. He tongued the chain along the underside, teasing the sensitive spot where Duff’s head met the shaft. “Oh my god,” Duff groaned. 

Rachel pulled away long enough to spit the chain out, holding it away from his mouth with one hand while he plunged back down the incredible length of Duff. Taking a deep breath, he felt the pulsing sensation in the back of his throat as Duff slid all the way in. Feeling his muscles start to spasm, Rachel tried to relax as Duff began to thrust into his mouth. Rachel stopped moving, just letting Duff take control. Duff wound a hand into his hair, tugging at it. Rachel hummed a little in protest, and the vibration pushed Duff over the edge. One, two, three more thrusts, then he suddenly pulled Rachel away with a sharp movement as he came in a glistening mess all over his tee. 

He peeled it off and tossed it in a corner. He grinned at Rachel. “Any chance I can borrow your shirt?”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted elsewhere 2014-ish


End file.
